CH35 : Korean Textile Association Plan

"... How about we build a US military rest area near the base?"

"A rest area?"

Colonel Godell grimaced exaggeratedly.

Before even the logistics base was completed, starting with a rest area seemed contrary to the military spirit.

"Ah, I chose my words poorly. Rather than a rest area, it's an operation to build a coastal defence line to prevent the Viet Cong from advancing."

"Constructing a coastal defense line?"

It sounded like the kind of project that says one thing but means another.

"We've certainly prevented the Viet Cong's land infiltrations by setting up barriers and guard posts, but the coastal jungle area remains unmanaged, right? If we clear all the trees there and create an open beachfront, visibility improves and we can immediately strike any approaching enemies."

I smoothly glossed over the fact that I was talking about cutting down trees.

"It's an urgent matter, isn't it!"

Colonel Godell must have heard about the Viet Cong guerrillas using bamboo boats, known as 'thung chai', to infiltrate via the coast.

"Yes, that's right. If you issue an emergency local procurement order, we'll complete the operation within the schedule."

"Good! Proceed immediately!"

"Yes, Colonel."

I saluted like a soldier and swiftly left the room.

He didn't even ask about the schedule or the expenses.

Expenses were for the sergeants to manage, and the schedule always ended up faster than I expected.

Colonel Godell just needed to hear we'd start soon.

This is too easy.

When interests align, money flows in.

"Mr. President, how did it go?"

Leaving the command center, my father was waiting.

"Just as expected. Have you prepared the logging equipment?"

"Of course, I can get it through the engineering battalion commander in no time. They really appreciate it when you look after the lodging facilities."

"You've done well."

Father was always spot-on.

We had already been preparing for logging along the coast. The engineering battalion had completed a survey of the logging equipment.

"But really, does timber actually bring in money?"

Our real business was the timber business.

Whether it's building a coastal defence line or a rest area, we had to cut down the trees and clear the area.

"It'll be beyond your imagination."

The timber business was not just about making money.

Historically, during the Vietnam War, Japanese companies had smuggled out timber using ships that carried military supplies and made a fortune.

To the US military, they claimed to have contracts with the South Vietnamese forces; to the South Vietnamese, they claimed to have contracts with the US military, and they pillaged recklessly.

It's no wonder that from the late 1960s, globally, hardwood furniture became a massive trend.

The influx of tropical hardwoods, making even furniture in Japan, where wooden architecture was preferred, and wildly popular, started it all.

In this timeline, I'll corner that market.

Kuynhon, central Vietnam, right in the middle of the tropical jungle, was the perfect place to smuggle timber.

This place will be my domain.

"Do you think the Americans will just watch us take over the timber?"

"Colonel Godell won't even care, just poke around the major a bit with Jindallae's boss. I'll pay."

Handling the Americans was no problem at all.

We're rightfully compensated for the labour of building a rest area for them.

"Me?"

"Just slip them 300 dollars a month, as if you're giving them an entire monthly salary."

"That's quite the profitable venture."

"We need to send it to Korea. Let's go, we only have a month. We need to secure it as our project before BR Company arrives."

"Yes, Mr. President."

I immediately sent a telex to Sambok as soon as I returned to the lodging.

'The time has come. Send the goods. Use the biggest ship possible.'

***

Meanwhile, in Seoul, South Korea.

Korean Textile Association Hall.

Bang!

"What on earth is going on, Mr. Chairman! Why can't we secure the military uniforms procurement?"

"What happened? Was there a delivery accident? We've spent nearly 3 million won in bribes, how can this be happening?"

"It's not just about the uniforms! Even the socks and undershirts we've been supplying are now going to be bid on. What kind of lightning strike is this? Please explain."

Presidents of textile companies such as Kyungsang Textile, Jesun Textile, Jodong Textile, Dongin Textile, and Sinsoo Textile had gathered, demanding answers from the chairman.

They had a reason to be upset since member companies of the association had celebrated just a few days ago when the deployment of troops to Vietnam was finally passed by the National Assembly.

Thanks to what was known as the Brown Memorandum, a blockbuster agreement between South Korea and the US, the US military was to fund the gear costs for the soldiers

.

They had expected making a fortune just from supplying military uniforms.

But to their dismay, not only had they failed to secure orders from the Ministry of Defense, but they were also informed that even the socks and undershirts they had been supplying would now be put up for bid.

Thump, thump, thump.

The chairman banged on the desk furiously.

"Stop getting red in the face and sit down."

The chairman, who was also the president of the largest member company, Samo Textile, which included Samo Transport, Samo Chemicals, and Samo CC, thus commanded respect.

More than respect, he was regarded as a typical 'political capitalist' who thrived by leeching off the political realm during this era, wielding unbelievable power across business and politics.

"Mr. Chairman, the current situation..."

"Alright, I know. I'm about to explain."

"Oh, sorry."

After signaling them once more, the company presidents reluctantly found their seats. Some gulped down cold water to calm their excitement.

"The President himself decided on this. He insisted on bidding for the deployment to Vietnam."

"How many times has he called for competitive bidding? The Ministry of Defense should give us a heads-up about the bidding price, not make us bid in the dark like this."

"Look, this bid isn't a show, it's for real. Seems like they don't want to take from us at all."

"What do you mean?"

At the chairman's words, everyone was startled.

After all the back money they had provided, this felt like a betrayal.

"It looks like they want to give it to Daese Industries. Rumor has it the President is also pushing for Daese to take on an aviation project."

"What? Even big companies like Hanshin Transport hesitate to dive into aviation. And you're saying the President wants to hand it over to a greenhorn like Daese Industries?"

"That's what they say. And guess what's even funnier?"

"Funny?"

"The President called him, but the boss of Daese Industries just flew off to Vietnam. The guy's completely off the leash."

"...That madman..."

Everyone was at a loss for words.

The President had intended to entrust him with military supplies and even aviation, but he had refused the call and gone to Vietnam.

What was he thinking? Was he just crazy?

"We need to get rid of him first."

"Mr. Chairman, that's dangerous. Remember how the prosecutor's office turned upside down last time? It cost us a fortune to cover it up."

It had been incredibly difficult to cut off that tail, and a lot of money had been spent to silence it.

As much as they despised Daese Industries, was doing that again the answer?

"I wonder if you'd still say that after seeing this."

The chairman casually tossed a piece of fabric on the table.

"...What is this? It's neither nylon nor polyester..."

"It's a dual-layer fabric that Daese Industries is making. I barely managed to sneak this out from their subcontractors, they call it Politech. Even the technicians from Tokyo Textile and Gavone Textile were surprised."

"Even Japanese technicians? Is this some kind of new fabric?"

"Even the Japanese technicians hadn't seen this type of fabric before. They were hesitant but impressed. After pressing them a few times, they finally admitted it was A-grade technology."

"A-grade technology?"

"That means it's world-class. According to the Japanese technicians, this honeycomb pattern isn't just for show. It's a special pattern that helps expel sweat and cool down the body."

"It cools down the body? So you're saying it gets cooler as you wear it?"

"Is there such a thing in the world?"

The textile association hall buzzed again at the piece of fabric thrown by the chairman.

"So they're going to patent it. That's why the President is backing such a fresh company. Daese Industries must have delayed submitting their military sample because they were filing for a patent."

"Patent... even a patent. A domestic company..."

Everyone's mouth hung open, not quite believing it.

The more they felt the fabric, the cooler it seemed, which was unbelievable even to their eyes.

Cooling fabric...

"We have to kill him. We all need to join forces and kill him."

"..."

No one objected to the chairman's harsh words.

They really needed to eliminate Daese Industries.

"And take it from them."

"How, Mr. Chairman? I heard their financial turnover isn't simple. They've been splurging money in Busan."

The company presidents pretended not to know, yet they had heard all the rumours.

"Whether it's money or technology, it's not a problem. Japan is willing to help. So, what shall we do?"

The chairman boldly put his hand on the table.

It was their saying, "If you fit, you join."

"Japanese companies?"

"...I'm in. Always have been."

"Count me in too. Just exclude Daese Industries from the nylon business."

One by one, the company presidents placed their hands over the chairman's.

"Let's start by copying whatever this Politech is. You, contact the patent office and see if Daese Industries has filed anything, then leak it to Japan. They've promised to supply us the yarn at half price."

"Heh! You guys are real benefactors."

"Let's also target Daese Industries' subcontractors. Whether we sneak out the fabric or squeeze their cash flow, there are plenty of ways to do it. You all know the drill, right?"

"Leave it to us, Mr. Chairman. We'll handle everything."

"I never liked them, boasting about raising salaries and all. Let's completely root them out this time."

With that, the presidents, like predators ready to pounce on their prey, bared their teeth.

****

Vietnam, near Quy Nhon, coastal jungle.

"Everyone, stand back, it's coming down!"

"Going downnnn!"

Roar, crash.

Majestic tropical trees fell one after another.

The sound of these giant trees falling was thunderous, outdoing any sound of thunder.

More chilling than the crash at the moment of falling was the prelude—the creaking and snapping sound just before something breaks.

The workers, having done this a few times, knew how to direct the fall of the trees.

"Everyone, step back. Bring the insecticide."

"Yes, Mr. President."

Once a giant tree was down, dealing with the pests was a priority over pruning.

Near the tangled roots, there was always a rotten pool. Leaves and various debris had not accumulated overnight, and they were mostly rotten to the core.

"Ugh."

"Can't even breathe."

The worker who brought the insecticide couldn't help but vomit. No matter how many times he saw it, he never got used to it.

Under the rotten leaves, rainwater mixed with decayed animal corpses formed a cesspool.

Mayflies, swarms of mosquitoes, leeches, and poisonous spiders clustered in that muck.

After spraying the insecticide, they set it on fire.

Being a damp place, the leaf pile might burn, but the trees remained unharmed—such was the nature of the Vietnamese jungle.

As all sorts of pests fell and burned, the flames subsided.

When the flames died down, they created a waterway from the rotten pool to the sea to drain the murky water.

Once the dark water drained and the ground became visible, the workers were called back.

"Come back in now. Start pruning. Be careful. Safety! Safety! Safety!"

"Safety! Safety! Safety!"

As I signaled, a worker with a saw hurried over.

We shouted safety three times before starting to prune.

It was a necessary incantation and a wish for us.

"After pruning, strip the bark right away."

"Yes, Mr. President. Kim, Cho, what are you doing? Come over and start peeling."

When logging, it wasn't enough to just cut down trees.

You had to peel the bark and perform fumigation to pass customs. If you didn't manage pests, all sorts of insects could end up being imported into our country.

Imagine if malaria mosquitoes or fire ants spread locally? The mere thought was terrifying.

"Crane, okay! Okay! Move the bark-stripped logs to the fumigator slowly. Slowly."

"Yes, Mr. President."

The fumigator was nothing fancy.

Just two connected containers with a metal box inside, logs were placed inside, and a tin filled with kerosene was added, and then set on fire.

Anyone who has used a kerosene lamp knows that burning it produces foul smoke and smell.

Moreover, lining up tin cans and lighting them made the heat intense, and all the insects buried within the wood would be thoroughly exterminated.

Most of them crawled out only to dry up and die.

The prepared timber piled up like a mountain.

In my past life as a subcontracting construction worker, I envied interior designers who fitted buildings with beds, wardrobes, and floors made of high-quality wood, earning millions.

It seemed unnecessary now.

In the upcoming boom of the '70s and '80s, numerous high-end wooden furniture brands would emerge, and I would be the one supplying the wood.

There would be no problem getting a fair price for the wood.

Furthermore, the price of wood scales geometrically with its size—the virgin forest wood here was literally a gold mine.

"How much is all this worth? It's hard even to calculate."

Though the job was dirty and muddy, the sense of fulfillment was unparalleled.

Having cleared just one hill, the hardwood piled up like a mountain.

The historical record of a Japanese shipping company making over 50 million dollars from the timber business during the Vietnam War felt very real now.

Each of these logs was big money.

"Hey, CS! Are you done with the work?"

A voice called out from somewhere.

Turning my head, I saw Sergeant Mark waving from the beach. He was shirtless, holding a beer can—it seemed he had come out for a tan.

"Mark! Is it your day off today?"

Mark had been coming around often lately.

What did he need this time?